Winecask
by Matrix-Twin1
Summary: Just to warn you, this is seriously freaky. It's good and interesting, but freaky... It's about Grantaire, that's all I can say...


I was passed out again, I suppose. It certainly wouldn't be a surprise, or the first time. I was resigned to this. I was dimly aware of being lifted, I supposed out of the cafe. Left to lean against a wall, or left in an alley. Again, no strange situation. I allowed the tranquility of Bacchus to overwhelm me.

Some time later, I wasn't sure how long, between the wine and a strange paralysis, I began to awake. I noticed several things, all at once, and all very peculiar and discomfiting. Firstly, I was naked, secondly, I was surrounded by young men, and thirdly, there was a strange, rank, horrible smell in the air. I opened my eyes more fully, looking around me. At least thirteen young faces were peering down at me. I thought I recognized Joly and Combeferre, but they gave no sign of knowing me. I looked past them. The room was large, cold, bare, and completely unfamiliar. The stench built as I moved my head slightly, watched by the boys. The room's only furnishings were shelves; many of them, all along all four walls. They held row upon row of jars, full of clear liquid with odd, colourful objects suspended in them. Something about these objects disturbed me, for no apparent reason. I squinted, peering closer. The objects took shape. There, a heart; there, a lung, a liver, a stomach. Body parts everywhere, all human.

I fought down panic, trying to hold back a scream. Into what den of horrors had I fallen? Then, I sighed, laughing at myself. Of course, the university. The medical school. Joly and Ferre must have found me, in some strange location, and, fearing for me, brought me here for care. The 'ominous odor' was nothing more frightening than ordinary medical preservatives. My mind was still a little unsure about some of the details of this theory. It didn't explain why I was naked, why they were giving no sign of recognizing me, why they had brought me all the way here, why there were so many others. Still, it was comforting to know that they cared. I smiled lightly. I still couldn't move very much, I supposed I was quite injured, or had had more to drink than I supposed. Glancing around again, I spotted a man, observing the students. He nodded to Joly, who paled slightly before returning the nod. The others stepped back slightly; evidently Joly was to be the one examining me. Not who I would have chosen, but clearly the professor trusted him enough. I relaxed, allowing my eyes to close slightly.

There was a pause. I wondered, idly, what was taking so long. If I was in such bad condition that I couldn't move, and they had brought me here, shouldn't he get a move on? Impatiently, I opened my eyes again. I found myself staring into those of Joly. He looked sad. I couldn't imagine why. I tried to speak, to tell him it was fine, and thank him for bringing me here. I couldn't speak. This frightened me a little, but I was sure Joly or Ferre or someone would soon have me back to my old, drunken, cynical self. I heard crying, dimly. I moved my eyes a bit, the only bit of me still mobile. I was beginning to worry, but not unduly. Besides, there was nothing I could do about it.

It was Combeferre. Large, slow tears were making their way down his cheeks, as he tried to dab them with his handkerchief, under the disapproving glances of his peers and professor. I was more bewildered, but there was still nothing to be done. I turned back to Joly. He, too, was crying, though not as much. He was holding a scalpel. I was more confused, and more than a little frightened, but I assumed he knew what he was doing. I wanted to tell him to wipe his tears, he could see badly enough, I didn't want him waving a knife around me in such a state. I couldn't. True, genuine terror filled me, but nothing could be done.

I felt, dimly, the knife. It pressed into my lower abdomen, deeper, then was drawn along my whole midsection. I still couldn't move, could hardly feel the pain as I watched myself dissected. With horror, I realized. I was being dissected. They were crying for me. I had been brought to the school, just another nameless cadaver, for the education of these doctors-to-be. My friends. The drink, a fight, an accident, some untimely death had taken me, but somehow left me behind to witness. I was feeling, seeing myself being sliced open, examined, scrutinized. The horror overwhelmed me, I couldn't even think any more. I could only watch every move of Joly's hands, taking away all I had left, that small, dirty body.

Screaming, Grantaire sat up, hitting his head on the low ceiling. Rubbing his head, panting, sobbing, he stared into the dark. He had never, in all his drunken visions, his childhood memories, in any horror he had ever witnessed on the Paris streets, witnessed anything as awful as this. He fought to slow his breathing, remind himself that it was only a dream.

But it might not be, a small, nasty voice in his head muttered. That could be you, some nameless, worthless corpse with no one to care. Keep your life on this way, that _will_ be you. You know it. You're just trash in the end.

Slowly, sadly, Grantaire nodded. The voice was right. He groped beside him, fingers brushing glass. He pulled the bottle closer, nestling it against himself as if for comfort. An image of Enjolras appeared before him, stern, austere and disapproving. A sign of life.

"No." A retort to the darkness. He took a swig of the rich, warm brandy, defying the horror that lay all around him.

"No." Stronger this time, more certain. Purposeful. "I may be trash, but I am not nameless. I have my cause, and I don't care if I die for it. Nothing else will kill me."

And nothing else did...

(HOLY SHIT!!! I freaked myself out so badly writing this, I haven't written anything this dark since grade eight must've freaked my poor teacher out, the stuff I came up with... ook, I'm all shaky now... anyway. This was inspired by a bit in The Blood of Angry Women by Jeni Baron Of course, they might mistake me for their newest cadaver and try to make me their experiment, but what the hell. If I come running back here, pursued by young men with scalpels, you'll know what happened. which is all happy and funny and gay... but noooo! My dark, twisted little mind produced...this... anyway. I'm satisfied, because R didn't learn anything or change. So there... eep... I'm gonna go hide in a hole now...)


End file.
